


With My Hands Up Towards the Sky

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Series: Gladiator AU [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Frottage, M/M, Romance, Slavery, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His last night at the Arena passes slowly, with Derek tossing and turning in his bed. Over and over again his hand slips down into the pouch he keeps tied to his belt and fingers the pendant that Stiles’ had given him and prays for strength and rest. He turns on his side, lies down on his back, on his stomach, tries recalling the lullaby his mother used to sing to him - but it is all in vain.</p><p>The morning light creeps in through the tiny, barred window, heralding the start of a new day. And in his case, a new life. One that he does not want nor has ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With My Hands Up Towards the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> SO much thanks to Kim for betaing this and for generally being my soundboard and ‘HELP! How did they curse in ancient Rome anyways?!’ person.  
>  **Warning:** Slavery

His last night at the Argent _ludus_  passes slowly, with Derek tossing and turning in his cell corner as he contemplates one horrible future after another. Over and over again his hand slips down to clutch the pendant that Stiles’ had given him. Derek's heated palm holds the metal tight and prays for strength. Try as he might, sleep doesn't come to him. He spends the whole night recalling all the horror stories they'd whispered amongst themselves of the slaves who'd made it out.

 

No one had ever earned their freedom amongst the Argent slaves. The only freedom you  _could_ achieve? Was an honorable, and glorious death on the sands. The more disobedient slaves were either killed in front of the rest of them (whipped to death or cut in half with a sword laced with aconite) or sold to other families with sick proclivities. No one has ever made it back alive from those families either. 

 

Eventually, the morning light creeps in through the tiny, barred window at the end of the long hallway, heralding the start of a new day. And in his case, a new life. One that he does not want nor has  _ever_ wanted. Not that Derek's wants have ever mattered, especially not after the fire. It is a struggle to get up on his feet when the guards open the cell door and tell him to move.

 

His eyes burn and no amounts of rubbing or blinking sooth the scratchy feeling at the corners. Neither does covering his eyes with his warm palms. The darkness is no longer soothing, like it has been before. Where once he took solace in the calm nothingness, now it stretches before him like a gulf that will swallow him whole. Appetite lost, he shuffles past Isaac and the others and onto the training area. 

 

While the others have their morning mean, Derek picks up a wooden sword and contemplates his future. He swallows hard and closes his eyes, wills himself to not do so. It is best that he doesn’t think about how he is now on borrowed time. Whatever  _[domus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domus)_  he has been sold too? Derek will have to make a run for it from there. Better a Fugitive than dead. There is no way Derek will die at a Roman's hand, or as a Roman slave.  


The thought stokes the old fire in his belly and gives him strength enough to begin the days training. He sticks to the post first, before eventually moving to spar with Isaac and the others under the  _doctore's_ watchful eye. Derek loses himself in the fighting, too caught up in anticipating his opponents blows to note how high the sun has crept up the sky. 

 

He's helping Isaac up on his feet when the  _doctore_  shouts his name. "The  _domina_ wants you." He jerks his thumb towards the  _ludus_. And just like that, Derek feels his strength bleed out of him. The other gladiators eye him with curiosity and pity, well aware that he's on his way to a long, painful death. He gives Isaac a pained smile before moving towards the guards waiting for him. It's time. 

 

As he passes Boyd, Derek can see the tension resting in the dark skinned man’s shoulders and the worry behind his dark eyes and carefully neutral expression. Derek nods once in the hopes of reassuring the man but Boyd presses his lips tighter. Isaac stands alone, shield and spear hanging by his sides as he stares at Derek with an openly worried expression. Derek wishes he knew what to say to offer some comfort to Isaac. But he can't think of anything to say. All he can do is try to communicate through a meaningful glance that Isaac should not worry. It doesn’t take, because Isaac’s eyes flash with a rage that only shows itself in the middle of a fight. Derek turns his face away, feeling sick and guilty at the same time.

 

Derek feels hot and cold at the same time. His stomach roils, threatening to push out the tiny amount of food he had forced himself to eat the night before. How he manages to remain upright while the centurion binds him is not something Derek remembers. Derek feels out of touch with his own body and more than a little light headed as he's escorted up into the  _ludus_ . Will he even be told who he is being sold off to? Or will he have to see for himself when he arrives? Also,  _domina_ ? Does that mean Kate or Victoria? The chains wrapped around his hands and feet jangle when they arrive at the  _[tablinum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domus#Interior_architectural_elements) _  and he sees its neither of the two women.

 

The  _domina_ is Kate's niece, Allison. She's speaking quietly with man with tanned skin and gentle brown eyes. They both turn to regard Derek and the guards as they enter the room. “This is him?” The man’s voice is a low but pleasant register. His brown eyes take in Derek’s face and the chains without any change in his calm expression. “The Black Wolf?”

 

Allison nods and smiles, "This is Derek. I'll give you his documents." She walks over to the desk, shuffles a few papers around before picking one up. Once quick glance over it and she's handing it over.

 

The unknown man reads the document over and nods, seemingly satisfied as he rolls the paper up. "I'd say give my regards to your family but..." The man jokes as one of the guards holds out the length of chain towards his new owner. Allison laughs, a strand of dark hair falling out of its elaborate style before playfully waving the man out.   


As the man takes hold of his chain, the guard warns, “I would be careful with this one. He can be feral.”  


“Is that so?”The newcomer stares blandly at Derek, "Do you plan on being feral?"

 

Taken aback, Derek dumbly shakes his head. The man turns to give the guard a bland smile before gently tugging Derek out, ignoring the surprised look on the guard’s face, one that clearly gives away his shock that his advice has not been accepted in the manner he was expecting. Were he not feeling so leaden, Derek might have smirked. His lips make an effort to turn up but they manage a small twitch at the corner. He might like this person, just a bit.

 

Derek wonders if this person is his new _dominus._  He's a good looking man. Almost as tall as Derek. Dressed well, if not elaborately. He doesn't smell dangerous either, not like any of the other Argents anyways. He lacks the distinctive sweet scent of aconite that seems to cling to their skin. This man smells like the Earth - rich and deep. Could he be a high ranking slave? Perhaps he works outside? That would explain his complexion at least.  


As they step out of the _ludus_ , his eyes are soft but steady when he looks right into Derek’s eyes and asks, “Are you going to make an attempt to run away? Or a similarly foolish act?” Derek does not even think about it and shakes his head. He knows that if were to try running away right now, he would be hunted down like a dog. Well known gladiator or not, he'd be killed. And he has yet to find out where the rest of his family is as well. Derek won't die until he's been reunited with whatever is left of hi family.  


The man smiles, pleased, “Good. Let us go.”   


The man guides Derek out with a gentle hand, the polar opposite of how the guards treated him. They walk down a dusty road for a long while before he catches sight of the market place, Derek feels his heart begin to pound in nervous anticipation. It has been almost eight years since he has stepped foot inside a city. When they had to fight, the gladiators would be packed up in the back of a locked, covered cart and taken to the Arena. All he has seen in many years, is the Argent  _ludus_ and the Arena. He wonders how much the city has changed.  


Not a lot as it turns out. The marketplace is as noisy as the marketplaces he remembers. Everything looks the same. From the vendors yelling and shouting as they try to sell their wares to the passing public to the children running around in small groups. Most people walk swiftly by, too busy in their own lives to pay attention, while others stand and haggle with the store owner. There's a group of housewives haggling with the fishmonger as they pass by. A few chariots roll by, led by fine looking horses trotting neatly on the dusty road. A group of men stand and listen to dark skinned man's lecture.

 

 

Derek is so preoccupied taking in the long forgotten sights and sounds he nearly stumbles into the ground when the other man stops in front of a [ _lectica_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lectica)  housing a red haired beauty - who is arguing with a blond man standing nearby.

 

The lady pauses half way through her sentence to eye Derek critically. Derek studies her in return. One glance is all it takes for him to realize that her pale skin and red hair are natural - both being rare and much coveted traits. Her silk  _[stola](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stola) _ was artfully arranged so that it revealed dainty feet clad in delicate sandals. And her  _[palla](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palla_\(garment\)) _ was a deep blue color, matching the jewels wrapped around her throat and bare arms.  


"Is this the man?" she inquires lazily, turning her gaze up at the blond by her side.  


The man’s blue eyes pierce Derek’s before he nods. She clicks her tongue and gestures for the slaves to return and bear her up. The four Nubian’s immediately step up to their places and heft the  _lectica_  up on their shoulders. “The things we have to do for that fool.” She tuts. “I trust that you will take him to his new  _domus,_ Danny?”  


Derek expects the blond to speak but instead the tanned man in front of him lowers his head in obedience. “And remember,” the blond pipes up as the  _lectica_  begins its slow journey back, “do _not_ let anyone else find out about him until we’re arrived.”  


Danny looks at Derek and then back at the blond. “I will have to tell the head of the household at least.”   


The blond glances at the  _lectica_  slowly making its way through the crowd before he dismissively states, “Just do not let that idiot find out about him. You know Lydia will kill us if we spoil this.”  


"I understand, Jackson." The dry tone makes Derek wonder what kind of relationship the two have. It is clear from the blond man’s attire that he is from a wealthy family if the high polish and quality of his armor is anything to go by. A [_Legatus_](http://spartacus.wikia.com/wiki/Legatus) maybe? Could Danny be Jackson’s personal slave? Or perhaps he is Lydia’s?  


Jackson pats Danny’s arm and strides off, confidently navigating through the crush of bodies until he is walking beside the litter. Are the two married? Derek wonders. And what are they in danger of spoiling? Who exactly has he been sold of too?  


A rattle and a tug pulls Derek out of his thoughts. “We need to get going,” Danny says, pointing down the other side of the road. “We are late enough as it is.” With a nod, Derek matches the younger human’s brisk pace as they work their way through the busy market. Soon enough, the stalls and vendors bleed out into tightly squeezed together [ _insulae_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Insulae) where a good part of the city resides. The size of these residences vary and change as they make their way out of the hustle and bustle that exists in the heart of the city until eventually the buildings turn into elegant  _domi_.

 

Derek is surprised when Danny leads him towards a modest sized  _domus_. From the outside, the residence doesn't look like the home of someone who could afford an Argent gladiator. It doesn't even look like a  _ludus_! His confusion only rises when they step  through the [ _posticum_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domus#Interior_architectural_elements).

 

 

A slave girl brushes by them, eyeing them both curiously before she busily moves on, laundry basket hefted high up against her hip. The cool shadows inside the structure are a welcome relief from the hot sun that they have plodded through. He wishes that he could reach up and wipe the sweat off his brow. And perhaps wash up. Derek stares longingly at the  _[piscina](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piscina) _ and the fish swimming around in it. He wants to jump into the cool water, drink his fill and then wash himself clean. Maybe that will help wash away the trepidation that seems to be clinging to his skin. 

 

But as it is, Derek finds himself being led towards the back of the  _domus_ , into a cramped little room. There is a hard looking bed in the corner and a sturdy looking table next to it. A plain amphora and basin rest on top of the table and they are the only decorations in the room. While Derek is busy examining his surroundings, instinctively turning towards the windows to check if he can escape from them if need be, Danny pulls a key out of his tunic and begins to take off the gladiator’s chains. They clink and rattle noisily as they fall into a puddle on the floor. Derek rubs his wrists, glad to be rid of the heavy weight, but there is little he can do for the pain in his head.

 

The throbbing headache from before has dulled into a low grade pain, a combination of being out in the sun for too long, a lack of sleep, and lack of breakfast. It makes it hard for Derek to focus on Danny’s words. “You should wash and rest while you can,” Danny says in a kindly tone. “I will go speak with the  _[dominus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominus_\(title\)) _ and inform him of your arrival. I expect the head slave will come looking for you as well. Be warned that he is slightly… eccentric.”  


His blood freezes. Is that supposed to be a kinder way of saying vile and of evil taste? It is at the tip of his tongue to ask Danny what he means by that but the man is already stepping out of the tiny room. In the silence of the room, Derek feels his headache return with a vengeance. The throbbing pain coupled with his tired eyes and heavy limbs cause him to almost stumble into the table.  


The amphora sways dangerously, causing water to slosh over the rim and onto Derek’s feet. He is relieved to note that at least the water is cool. He quickly drinks his fill before pouring some of the remaining liquid into the stone basin and washes up. It is only after he is soaked that the werewolf realizes that he does not have a drying cloth or a change of clothes.  


A quick check under the table reveals a rough washing cloth that Derek uses to dry up. He is rubbing the cloth through his damp hair, feeling refreshed and more awake than he has all day, when a dark haired man bursts into his room.  


The urge to snarl and bare his teeth at the stranger is high. He is older than trio he has ‘met’ today and his hair is a dishevelled mess. There is a crazed, manic glint to his eyes that makes the werewolf wary when he eyes Derek up and down before sighing dramatically. “Thank Hercules! I was expecting a scrawny little thing but you’re so much better. You look like you can get some work done without swooning.”   


A fresh tunic and loincloth is tossed his way. “Put that on before you hurt someone. I don’t want the girls falling over left and right when you walk by them. Then again, maybe I ought to make you wear a sheet, that might be better. But then I don’t think you’ll manage to get your chores done and what’s a slave who can’t do his work.”  


Derek barely has time to process the sudden rush of words when a loud crashing sound rings in the air. The man suddenly stiffens and darts out the doorway, his voice echoing in the hallway _._ "What did you break this time, Greenberg? I swear to  _Jupiter_  I don’t know why I still keep you around!”  


Greenberg? Derek shakes his head and rubs his ear. He must be more tired than he thought he was if he's hearing garbled names like that. He brings the tunic up to his nose and takes a tentative sniff. It smells clean. Slightly musty but clean. No traces of aconite on it either. Derek shrugs it on, knotting the belt in place as he wonders why he hasn't caught even the barest scent of aconite from the house. It smells nothing like the  _ludus_. Rather, it smells very much like a home.  


He is slipping Stiles’ pendant under his tunic, and trying not to think of all the ways this could all be an elaborate ruse of some kind to make Derek let his guard down, when the man from before stomps back in, expression as dark as a thundercloud. “Come on, the  _dominus_ wants to meet you. Make sure to mind your manners and don’t talk back to him. And don’t call him any cutesy nickname either.”  


Derek frowns heavily at the last bit of advice. What person, in their right frame of mind, would refer to their _dominus_ with ‘cutesy nickname’? Unless of course they had a death wish. Even then Derek imagines that there are swifter ways to court death than to insult a Roman.   


As the man leads them towards the front of the  _domus_ , Derek notes that this residence is furnished rather simply. There are no frescos or paintings-a few inlaid marble paneling and the bare minimum amount of columns required to hold the roof up. He counts a handful of slaves moving around the residence, no more than eight.  


Upon arriving at the [ _tablinum_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tablinum), the _dominus_ raises his head to look at them. He has a kind but stern face, Derek notes immediately. He's dressed simply. A single ring on one hand that rests on a table stacked high with papers.  


" _Dominus_ ," the crazy haired slave greets with a low nod, "I’ve brought the new slave."  


The man's gaze turns to Derek. Immediately Derek is struck with the sensation that there is something familiar about this man. Something about his scent is tickling his memory, teasing him to remember something that seems just out of his reach. “Thank you.” With another nod, the slave takes a step back and leaves Derek alone with his new master.  


Pale blue eyes observe him quietly. There is a shrewd intelligence there that makes Derek feel uneasy. “I am going to guess from your startled expression that you do not know where you are.” His voice is warm and light, like a summer breeze. Derek shakes his head slowly, ready for whatever that might be thrown his way.   


The man sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, grumbling under his breath about headstrong sons and their equally stubborn friends before he sighs. “Why am I not even surprised that they did not tell you anything,” the man laments before he looks up.   


Tell him what? Derek feels ready to crawl out of his skin out of sheer agitation. But before he can get an answer, there are loud voices coming their way. Derek recognizes one of the voices. It's the blond man from the marketplace. And the woman, Lydia. and a third person's footsteps. So they have finally arrived.  


The  _dominus_ looks over Derek’s shoulder and smiles at whoever is coming. Curiously, the werewolf begins to turn. A familiar voice, far too familiar, makes Derek freeze in his place.

 

“I do not understand the need for all this secrecy,” Stiles complains loudly. “Nor the need for the blindfold! What would happen if I stumble and fall?”  


"Shush," Lydia scolds the man, tapping her palm against Jackson’s bicep to get his attention. The blond is pushing Stiles towards the  _tablinum_ area, his hands resting atop the dark haired man’s shoulders, “Be a good boy and follow the instructions we have given you.”  


Derek holds his breath, unaware of the fact until he realizes that he feels light headed. The exhale is a shaky gust of air that makes the  _dominus_ give him a curious look. “There is no need to be nervous,” the man states, “For all his blustering and excessive words, my son is a kind person.”  


That not only catches Lydia and Jackson’s attention, it also catches Stiles’. “Father, who are you speaking to?” the young man asks in a tone dripping with curiosity. “Can I take the blindfold off already, Lydia?” he whines immediately afterwards.  


_Father_?! Derek feels like he is on the brink of passing out here. His brain is racing and struggling to process the slew of new information. Is this Stiles’  _domus_? Has  _Stiles_  bought him? But then what of Danny who had brought him here? And the couple, Lydia and Jackson?  


With a hard roll of her eyes, the red haired lady pulls the dark cloth off Stiles’ head. “You complain more than a child,” she states in the manner of someone long used to Stiles’ habits. Still, the lady smiles mischievously at Jackson and Derek before stepping back.   


Stiles blinks quickly, getting used to the bright light pouring in through the  _[compluvium](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compluvium) _ overhead. The sudden change from darkness to light has to be reason why he looks so disoriented for a quick second. Disorientation gives way to utter confusion when Stiles’ eyes fall on him. Derek faintly thinks that he can relate to the feeling.  


Stiles points at Derek, mouth falling open as he gapes at his friends and then the  _dominus_. “Father. What. I do not…” the man  _actually_  waves his arms around in distress before he turns around to eye the smug looking couple behind him. “What did you two do?!”  


Jackson rolls his eyes, clearly bored with the proceedings. Lydia smiles, as sweetly as a cat ready to pounce upon her prey. “We all put our money together and bought you a fine slave from the Argent's for your birth day present. Surprise.” Derek stares incredulously at the lady, wondering how much money she must have spent to buy him out from under the Argent’s nose.  


"We all?" Stiles parrots, gaze darting from person to person.  


Lydia ticks the names off on her hand, “Myself, Jackson, your father, Scott and Allison.”  


Allison? Allison was in on this plan?

 

Stiles’ looks more bewildered than before. “ _Allison_?” he asks incredulously. “How is she going to explain selling off one of their gladiators to you? Her aunt and grandfather will be furious with her!” _  
_

 

Lydia’s smiles wickedly at her friend, “Oh she knew. It is her way of rebelling against her family. Besides, they're always telling her to take more interest in the family business. She's ready to defend her choices.”  


A look of understanding and amused resignation flit over Stiles’ face. “They said something against Scott again, did they not?” He sighs and shakes his head. “I do wish that they would understand that there is no stopping those two. It does not matter how much they object, Allison will certainly pick Scott over her family. No matter how much it will hurt her.”  


The trio looks solemn for a moment. Derek wonders is this an old conversation that they have discussed many times previously. It certainly feels so. The moment however, is broken when Stiles’ father claps his hands to get everyone’s attention.  


"If that is all," the older man says while meeting everyone’s eyes quickly, "there are tasks to be attended to before tonight’s celebrations. Stiles, be sure to thank your friends for their generous gift."  


With a grin, Stiles springs forward to grab his father in a tight hug. The older man playfully huffs and returns the embrace. “Happy birth day, son.” The smile on Stiles’ face is nothing short of stunning. Watching the two embrace while Lydia and Jackson watch, brings forth the realization that things will be okay. Derek nearly falls to his knees when he realizes all of his worry has been for naught!

 

Derek has never been a religious man. In fact, after the fire, he had lost his faith all together. But today. Today he wants to run to the nearest temple and give all the gods his thanks and gratitude. He is alive, safe and with the man he loves. Derek starts when he feels a hand wrap around his arm and looks down.

 

Familiar fingers squeeze his muscles once more before Stiles murmurs, “Come with me.” Derek blinks owlishly and allows himself to be dragged away. When had the others left? Had he been  _that_  distracted in his own thoughts?

 

"In here." Stiles pushes a heavy curtain aside before he pulls Derek into a small [ _cubiculum_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domus#Interior_architectural_elements). As soon as the fabric sweeps back over the entrance, the werewolf finds being tackled by the younger man. With a grunt, Derek stumbles back even as his arms come around Stiles.   


Stiles holds his tightly, almost painfully so. His face is buried against Derek’s shoulder and his breathing is erratic. Derek can hear the fast rhythm of Stiles’ heart. It makes the anxious-happy rhythm of his own. “I cannot believe this.” Stiles’ voice is muffled against his tunic. "It feels like a dream."  


"Neither can I." Derek replies in an awed tone, pulling away to look at Stiles’ face. Despite how dark the tiny space is, Derek can easily make out the wet shine to Stiles’ eyes. It is clear to see that Stiles is just as relieved as how Derek is feeling, perhaps even more. His entire body trembles and shakes when Stiles takes hold of Derek’s face and pulls him in for a hard kiss. The contact is desperate and biting. The pain of Stiles’ small but sharp bites serve to ground Derek immediately.

 

A new kind of frenzy sweeps through the werewolf’s mind. It makes his hands push away Stiles’ clothes with a reckless strength that comes from the need to be close to the man. Derek needs this. Needs to hold Stiles against him, feel his chest heaving against his own, hear his moans rush past his ear.  


“ _Yes_!” Stiles hisses, his own hands yanking Derek’s tunic out of the way before he makes a delighted face at the pendant the werewolf is wearing. “You…” the man begins before giving up with a delighted moan. Derek smiles and accepts the kiss that comes after, stepping towards the bed pressed up against the wall.  


He is not aware  _how_  but between them, they manage to undress each other before they drop on the bed. Stiles twists mid-way so that he falls on top of Derek and grins down at him. “I truly hope that this is not a product of my imagination or a dream.” he states while his hands sweep over Derek’s chest and arms.   


Derek’s hands are sliding over toned legs, pulling Stiles closer so that they are pressing against each other. With another pleased noise, Stiles braces himself and begins to roll his hips. Derek tightens his grip before forcing his fingers to relax and slide up quickly to cup Stiles’ face.  


There is a smile being directed his way that burns brighter than the sun. It only renews Derek’s vow to thank any and all gods for bringing Stiles into his life. The lazy rhythm that they have been building slowly grows in its intensity. Their bodies grow slick with sweat, their breathing out of sync but sweet with lust. “Derek…” Stiles sighs, bracing himself by planting one hand beside the werewolf’s head.  


Whatever words that were going to come out through those pink lips are lost when a familiar loud voice yells, “Where’d that new guy go? Greenberg! You didn’t scare him off did you?! I swear to Mars if I find out that you’ve made him run away, I’m going to whip you!” That startles them both into stopping and turning towards the closed curtain as the yelling continues.  


Derek shakes his head, smiling wryly up at Stiles. “I feel that it is my duty to inform you that  _that_ person is  _very_ strange.”  


Rolling his eyes amusedly, Stiles replies, “I am afraid we already know that. As odd as he may act, he knows how to run a  _domus_ better than anyone I have ever met.”  


"Who is this ‘Greenberg’ that he keeps yelling at?" Derek asks curiously, slipping his hands behind Stiles’ back as he leans down. Chest to chest, Stiles nuzzles and peppers kisses on Derek’s tanned skin. It makes the next question come out breathless. "And is his name truly Greenberg?"  


Snickering into Derek’s neck, Stiles answers. “Of course not! He’s our gardener and is especially good at it. Thus, the ‘green’ part.”  


"And berg?"  


Stiles shakes his head, “I confess, I do not know. I do not want to ask either.”  


Derek laughs quietly, fingers sliding into Stiles’ messy hair. He pulls the smiling man into a gentle kiss that makes him shiver against Derek. “I…” Stiles sighs and tips his head back, offering more of his neck to the werewolf in an unwitting show of submissiveness, “am going to have to sacrifice a whole boar to Venus. Or Cupid. Maybe Juno? Perhaps all of them?”  


The love-struck grin that Stiles directs his way fills Derek with utter delight. There are no words to describe the feeling that swells up in him, making him feel so  _full_ that he might burst with happiness. “Perhaps all of them. Just to be safe.” Derek replies against Stiles’ nose, pressing a kiss to the tip.  


More kisses follow, with special attention being given to the line of beauty marks that dot Stiles’ cheeks. They make the younger man wriggle and chuckle warmly before he replies, “A wise decision. I would be lost without you.”  


His hands tighten at the light words. When Derek peers up at Stiles, he realizes that despite the easy manner in which Stiles had said them, the man truly means them. His throat goes dry, the wolf part of him howling and fighting to reconnect with Stiles. Derek surges up to capture Stiles’ lips in an open mouthed kiss that allows him to swallow down the other man’s surprised noise and pleased groan.  


Their hands begin to wander all over again, hips beginning to shift and move against each other as well. Derek sighs against Stiles’ cheek before falling back down on the bed. Happily, the young man follows immediately. They exchange kiss after kiss while their hips rock against each in a slow rhythm that drives Derek up the wall.   


Just as he is debating between grabbing Stiles’ ass and pushing him into a harder rhythm or reaching between them to grab their sticky, hard erections, someone pulls the curtain back with a loud, “Stil- _for Jupiter’s sake!_ ”  


Whoever it is, they drop the curtain and leave the couple in darkness again. Only difference this time is that Stiles groans and presses his face into Derek’s shoulder with a pained whine. More than a little confused, Derek pats Stiles’ back and asks, “Is something wrong?”  


He gets a hysterical laugh in reply. “Wrong? Oh no, no. Nothing is wrong. Just that my best friend walked in on me having sex. Nothing wrong there at all.”  


"It could be worse." Derek tries to comfort.  


Stiles gives him an impressive stink eye, “ _How_  could that have been worse?”  


"It could have been your father."  


After a long pause, Stiles replies, “Good point.”  


"I can still hear you, you do know that right?" Scott pipes up from the other side of the curtain.  


Stiles rolls his eyes and continues to stick to Derek like a barnacle, “Go away! We happen to be busy!”  


"That is a fine way to treat your best friend who has taken special leave for  _your_ birth day.” Scott’s teasing words make Stiles grin and pull away with a regretful sigh. He looks down at their softening cocks with a wry smile before mouthing ‘sorry’ down at Derek.  


Derek accepts the apology on Stiles’ lips with a smile and a kiss, standing up with the man before he begins to help him get dressed. The flush that his actions bring to the young man’s face makes it hard for Derek not to smile. “You need not do this.” Stiles says demurely.  


Pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ knuckles, Derek answers in the same soft voice, “I want to.” The flush becomes darker and Stiles’ smile wider.  


There is an awkward sounding cough from outside that makes Stiles roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, we’re coming already.” Stiles lends Derek a hand as he dresses, pulling the pendant on top of the tunic with a pleased look.  


Quickly the werewolf captures Stiles’ hand in his own and squeezes it. Stiles’ inquisitive look turns to surprise and warm-tenderness within a blink of an eye as Derek leans down to press their foreheads together. “Thank you for saving me.”  


Stiles blinks at him, “But I did no-“  


"You did." Derek insists quietly but firmly, "You  _did_  save me.” Confusion gives way to a deeper, more serious expression on Stiles’ face. It is both contemplative and serene, as though he does and does not understand what Derek means.  


Maybe one day soon, Derek will sit down beside Stiles and explain his words. He will gather his courage and explain it all - how lost he had been before meeting Stiles, how, by crawling under his skin, Stiles had given him hope again, how Stiles has given him purpose. And maybe after that, he will tell him what he really is.  


"I hope you will explain that to me soon." Stiles murmurs quietly, raising his hand up to Derek’s face. The back of two fingers brush against his beard before they pull away.  


Derek nods quietly and takes a step back, well aware of the bored-nervous pacing that Scott is doing outside the bedroom. “I promise.” His reply makes Stiles’ smile. Derek smiles back in return before he pulls the curtain back and steps back, making room for Stiles to step out first.  


"I will hold you to that." Stiles replies softly as he passes by, one hand quickly squeezing Derek’s shoulder before he loudly declares, "Scott! I was not expecting you so soon!"  


As he straightens, Derek tries not to reach up and touch the spot where Stiles’ hand has just been and observes the two men hugging and patting each other on the back. Scott is facing him but his attention rests entirely on Stiles as he laughs, “Yes, I gathered as much! I thought I would surprise you!”  


"You did indeed." Stiles jokes, giving Derek a quick amused grin.  


Scott groans and covers his eyes, “Lydia was right!” The man laments, “You are completely besotted with him!”  


Derek tries not to smile too hard when Stiles turns red and stammers out a weak protest. He hides the happy upturn of his mouth behind his hand, pretending that he is observing the tiles while scratching his nose. Still, Derek catches sight of Stiles blustering and leading Scott out while hissing, “I cannot believe I am friends with you.” __  
  


"I find that highly insulting." Scott retorts immediately, his voice growing faint as they step out the main entrance.  


Derek takes a step forward, thinking that he will accompany the pair but the crazy-haired man slips out of nowhere to grab his arm and yell, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He finds himself being dragged back towards the back of the  _domus_.   


He glances back towards the main entrance and catches sight of Stiles looking at him with an uncertain, nervous look. Derek smiles encouragingly and nods. Some of the nervousness abates and is replaced with happiness before Stiles darts away. “Are you even listening to me?” The man declares, glaring at Derek.  


"Yes I am." Derek replies immediately. The man glares at him before rolling his eyes and muttering about spoiled slaves under his breath and going back to his speech about household duties and what Derek will be expected to do.  


This will be his life from no on - looking after Stiles and his father,  _Consul_ Stilinski. Other than performing whatever duties Stiles wants him, he will be responsible for looking after the young man’s horses and his chariot. “You with me so far?”   


Derek smiles and nods, “Yes.”  


He is already looking forward to it.


End file.
